


Broflovski’s home for losers and gays

by itslikeorange



Series: The Losers and Gays [1]
Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Cartman Being Cartman, Drama, Getting Back Together, Harriet the creepy doll, He puts up with alot, Kinda BAMF Kyle, M/M, More Kyman with Creek I guess, POV Craig Tucker, Pining, Poor Butters, Poor Craig
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-14 02:54:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7995961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itslikeorange/pseuds/itslikeorange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'You can tell a lot about a man by the company he keeps.' Craig wonders if that's true, what the hell that says about him. Never a dull moment at Broflovski’s home for losers and gays. </p><p>Trigger warnings: Violence & domestic abuse including dubious consent and revenge porn (not between Creek or Kyman).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

‘Broflovski’s home for losers and gays’, that’s what Cartman calls it.

Butters prefers ‘Broflovski’s home for waifs and strays’, but then he always was a pussy.

Tweek calls it the dumping ground, but then, that guy read too much Tracy Beaker growing up.

And Kyle… Kyle just calls it ‘home’, which I suppose is why we all live with him in the first place.

I don’t blame Kyle for wanting to escape his mother’s talons. That women could break a guy’s balls with a look alone and frankly we were all in awe that Kyle managed to defy his parents and sidestep college with his intact. He got an internship straight out of high school at a local accountancy firm, making shit money but enough to get a place, provided he had a flatmate. Tweek was in the market, desperate to escape his own parent’s brand of crazy and that was that. He moved in the next week.

Tweek still works at the coffee shop which isn’t great, but all in all, I gotta admit that living with Kyle has been pretty good for him. Kyle is a neat freak, has a solid routine, doesn’t play loud music and as long as you don’t rile him up, is a pretty easy guy to get along with. Basically the perfect room-mate for a paranoid nervous wreck.

Kyle’s boyfriend on the other hand…

Eric fucking Cartman. Now there’s a face I could have done with never seeing again after high school. He’s loud, obnoxious, drags Kyle out at all hours to go on some fucked up ‘adventure’ and treats the flat as if it’s his own, lounging about the place, watching TV, getting into screaming matches with Kyle and generally being a douche.

But even he has his reasons for joining our little commune. Ok, so he’s fucking the landlord, but I still remember being called to his house last summer. It was in my first few weeks out of police training, when I was a fresh faced officer (alright, I’ve never been fresh faced but you get what I mean. Cynical, perpetually-pissed-off-with-the-idiots-around-him officer doesn’t quite have the same ring to it) and me and my partner were called out to a domestic, which basically turned out to be one of Cartman’s Mom’s ‘dinner parties’ that had gotten out of hand.

I didn’t even know they did dildos that big, man.

Turns out one of the guys had somehow made his way upstairs to Cartman’s room (fuck knows how he managed it, he was too off his face to even stand up straight) where Cartman was holed up playing music at a frankly ear bleeding level, presumably to drown out the noise from downstairs. Anyway, the guy stumbled across Cartman and ‘propositioned him’ to which Cartman responded ‘negatively’…. at least that was what we wrote in the report. I thought ‘offered Cartman some crack to blow him, to which Cartman responded by suckerpunching him so hard he barfed over his tan brogues’ would offend the Chief’s delicate sensibilities.

So yeh, whenever Cartman is being particularly dickish, I just remember that night, seeing him sat on the steps of his house as two police officers took his mother and her seven male party guests in for possession, and that makes him just a little easier to tolerate… just a little.

Doesn’t mean I want to hear him and Kyle at it though. Luckily, Tweek occupies the room next to Kyle’s and provides a great sound buffer between Cartman and Kyle’s room and mine when the former are doing the nasty. I keep brain bleach on standby though just in case.

I should probably clear something up here. Tweek is my ex-boyfriend. And for those of you who think that living with your ex is all kinds of stupid, that’s your issue. Me and Tweak are still best friends, just without the hand holding and kissing.

When Kyle and Cartman came out, the Japanese girls had their new ship and the residents of South Park their new gay poster couple of the month. By the time Butters (now graduated from bi-curious to full blown bi-sexual) started dating David a couple of months back, the town barely raised an eyebrow and me and Tweek were officially off the hook. It was by mutual decision that we called time on our relationship. After all, a relationship based on peer pressure was never going to last, and we both wanted to free to do our own thing on our own terms for a while with ‘no pressure’ as Tweek so aptly put it. So, when Jimmy got his big time comedy break and left for Denver, I packed a box and moved all of 10 feet to the room next door.

Kenny is the last of the original fan-fucking-tastic four to grace our presence (Stan having followed his bitch ass girlfriend to college). Kenny did actually get into college too, got a scholarship and everything, only to come high tailing it back after one phone call from his little sister. Now he works 2 jobs trying to get her through high school so she doesn’t end up sucking dick for food stamps.

There isn’t really room for him here but Kenny doesn’t give a shit; he sleeps on the couch or on the floor when it’s particularly bad at home and he turns up at 3am with Karen in tow. She’s not a bad kid and I think even Cartman tones it down when she’s around.

And then there’s me. If you’d have told me when we were kids that I’d be voluntarily hanging out with the rejects from Stan’s group, I’d have asked you what you were smoking and could I have some, anything to escape the perpetually freezing, always fucked up hick town that is South Park. I especially didn’t expect to be living with the two biggest trouble magnets the ol’ US of A has ever seen.

Cartman and Kyle don’t just live for the madness though, they’ve made a living _off_ of it. Well Cartman certainly has anyway; the town hall basically pays him to take care of all the crazy shit that happens around here, and I swear Kyle only keeps his job at the firm (where he’s now a fully qualified accountant) to prove that Cartman doesn’t dictate his life… even though he inevitably ends up getting sucked into whatever circus Cartman is ringmastering.

After Tweek, Kyle is probably my next choice to hang out with. If you ignore the temper and the temporary insanity that comes over him whenever he’s in the vicinity of one Eric Theodore Cartman, then he’s probably one of the most sane people around here. He’s not a pussy, has a sharp tongue and is pretty fucking smart. Admittedly, the bar in South Park isn’t very high but at least he can hold a conversation without it devolving into an all singing parade or a pitch fork wielding mob (ok so that has happened like a handful of times but like I said, bar not high).

And I think Kyle likes hanging out with me for pretty much the same reason. When Stan left, he lost his voice of reason, and when Cartman is going all out to piss him off or Butters is being too cutesy or even Tweek is having a bad day, he tends to seek me out and we go for a drive or down to the pond with a few beers. We don’t talk. That’s kind’ve our thing and why I would actually now consider him a good friend.

Not a day goes by though that I don’t wonder at how the fuck Kyle and Cartman ended up together. Take their morning ritual for example; Cartman is always first at breakfast, then Kyle rushes in, grabbing a slice of toast and whatever papers he needs for the office.

‘How you doin?’ Comes the morning greeting, to which Cartman usually responds by flipping him off and Kyle, instead of telling him to go fuck himself, just laughs and shoves at him, swooping in for a kiss before flying out the door to whatever boring ass meeting he has that day.

Sometimes Cartman gives him the two fingered salute, just I imagine, for a bit of variety. And one day he even put his whole hand up in Kyle’s face. Granted that seemed to put them both in a snit, with Cartman locking himself in his room like a moody teenager and Kyle on edge and snapping more than usual. Then then next day, back to normal, or as normal as those two get. I just don’t get it.

Another thing guaranteed to get the Broflovski temper going is any mention of Butters’ boyfriend, David. Like Kenny, Butters doesn’t officially live here but has a key and generally hides here when his psycho parents are being particularly Norman Bates, which is a lot. Sometime he brings David, who Kyle _hates_. It’s would be hilarious to watch him practically bite his tongue in half trying not to let on if I didn’t totally agree. The guys a dick. Although not as Cartman insists ‘because he’s ginger and has no soul.’ (I pointed out once that Kyle’s ginger prompting him to wax poetic on the grand sacrifice he’s making to save ‘our dear ginger Jew from an eternity of hell and damnation’. Seriously, I really, really don’t get it.)

No, David is just your run of the mill control freak boyfriend, who if he was a chick, we’d all be making Fatal Attraction references and telling Butters to lock up his pet rabbit. Unfortunately since it’s Butters, who as I’ve mentioned before is a pussy, we all have to play nice and pretend like we don’t want to choke David with a rolled up magazine, Bourne style.

Today is one of those days.

We’re all in the front room except for Cartman, who sings at Butters’ club in town for some extra cash when he hasn’t got a ‘case’ on. It should be a pretty chill evening without the fatass but instead I’m having to deal with an atmosphere so thick, I’m surprised it hasn’t joined a frat house and hosted a keger.

Now the flat may be an ok size but with so many people it’s a bit of a squeeze at the best of times and it’s not like any of us have loads of cash to spare doing it up; the kitchen tap leaks and we need a rota for the shower as the hot water tank holds fuck all.

Not that it’s not a nice place to live, we all worked hard when Kyle and Tweek moved in to make it habitable and although the walls are painted a middle aged beige (what Kyle’s Mom had left in the garage) and none of the hand me down-stroke-Walmart furniture matches, it has a decent sized TV with Netflix and photos of family and friends on the living room surfaces. Not to mention all the random paraphernalia dotted about from Cartman and Kyle’s exploits over the years (I’ve no idea where the ‘Welcome to Cranky Corner, Louisiana’ sign over Kyle’s desk came from and as a cop, I’m not gonna ask).

I’m currently sat on the sofa with Kyle, with Tweek on the other side of him, attempting to watch the latest seizure inducing effort by Michael Bay. There’s only one other chair, currently claimed by Butters and David, who, instead of sitting on the floor like Kenny, has elected to sit in Butters’ lap. PDA doesn’t cover what they’re doing right now and if Kyle doesn’t explode and tell them to knock it off soon, then I think I may be in danger of hurling.

‘Guys.’ Kenny clears his throat and Butters breaks away from David, looking embarrassed. ‘I can’t hear the movie over your sucking face.’

‘Sorry Kenny.’ David says with a grin, not looking sorry at all. ‘Saturday night at the movies and all that.’

‘You’re not at the movies, you’re at our house.’ I interject dryly.

‘Yeh, have some self-control, eck, guys.’ Tweek agrees and I stamp down the flare of warmth at him speaking out to back me up. One of the hangovers from our time together.

‘Sorry Fellas, we’ll save it for later.’ Butters stammers, extracting his arms to something a bit more appropriate for company and smoothing down his black shirt. He started wearing more ‘manly’ colours after David apparently told him signature pastel tones made him look ‘like a fairy boy’. In my opinion, with his bright blonde hair and boyish face, he looks less Jason Statham and more like an extra from Twilight.

I glance at Kyle who’s clenching his jaw at the pout David is throwing at Butters for putting a halt to their play. It only takes about 10 minutes for Butters to break under his puppy dog eyes and for them to resume right where they left off.

‘I’m going to the club.’ Kyle announces, getting up so suddenly that Tweek almost falls off the end of the sofa.

‘We’ll come with you.’ I say, glancing at Tweek who nods emphatically, clambering to his feet. Kyle raises an eyebrow at our enthusiasm. We almost never come out with him, both more inclined towards quiet nights in (and the quietest nights are when everyone is at the club) however, this is a desperate situation – I’ll take throbbing music and a throbbing head tomorrow over staying here with the two lovebirds any day.

‘You coming Kenny?’ Kyle asks, as we all grab our coats.

‘Nah dude, got the early shift tomorrow.’ Kenny says, grabbing his parka to leave nonetheless.

‘Well, why don’t we all go?’ David pipes up. Everyone stills, trying to suppress a collective groan.

‘Wouldn’t you guys rather stay and finishthemovie? Have some privacy?’ Tweek hedges.

‘Nah, we haven’t been out in ages, have we Butters?’ David says, twirling a strand of Butters hair.

‘N-no.’ Butters agrees and that’s that. We’re all going.

We elect to walk, nothing in this town is far and we’re soon at the doors to ‘The Red Lounge.’   

‘Hi Terry.’ Kyle greets the bouncer, who guides us straight past the grumbling line and waves us in.

I must admit, I thought Butters was pretty crazy when he said he wanted to open a club. South Park isn’t exactly known for its party atmosphere, but a combination of ‘nowhere else better to go’ and Butters taking pains to make it the best club in town have made it a neat success. Kyle stumped up most of the collateral and helps to run it when Butters gets in over his head, which is fairly often. The guy’s just too nice for business.

I let the sound of raised voices and thumping music assault me as we enter the main room. It’s done out like an old style cabaret bar with plush red seats, sparkling chandeliers and a big stage, where Cartman is already holding sway over a hundred strong crowd who are jumping and waving their arms in time with the music.

I watch him for a moment. For a bigger guy, he sure can move and even I’ll grudgingly admit that there probably isn’t a better singer in this town. Even if he wasn’t, he’d still have them all eating out of the palm of his hand. After all, this is the guy who can incite an entire town to riot or fall madly in love with him with one well-placed note. There’s something almost magnetic about him when he’s like this; caramel brown hair that’s getting slightly too long and starting to curl at the ends, eyes flashing with an energy that’s instantly infectious. For a fraction of a second I can actually see why Kyle finds him attractive.

Christ, I need to get laid.

Tweek steps into my line of vision and I put the brakes on that juxta-position. He’s got his big ass ear defenders on to dampen out the sound, his perpetually-messy hair sticking up in spikes around the headband. He looks like a dork and the sight makes my mouth twitch fondly.

‘Let’s get a drink.’ I shout to him and he gives me the thumbs up, following me over to the bar at the back of the room where Kyle is already ordering for himself, David and Butters. He turns and asks us what we’re having as we join them and I order a beer for me and a larger and black for Tweek. That’s another perk about being friends with the co-owner; free drinks.

We grab a booth and Kyle is almost instantly snagged by Red and Bebe, who spot us through the crowd.

Red is Cartman’s dance partner on the odd occasion that they perform a routine. She says it’s because he’s the only one who can do lifts properly who can keep up with her moves, but I think she got stuck with him because no one else can take her shit. Red is a bit like Cartman that way (not that I would ever say that to her face); bitchy with a big mouth and a tongue that could cut diamond. They hate each other with an intensity that could rival Kyle and David but I gotta admit, they do look good together.

Red started hanging out with Kyle more during her and Cartman’s practices and thus, the most unexpected friendship was born. Her and Bebe are now Kyle’s self-proclaimed ‘fag hags’ and waste no time in getting the redhead up and showing off his uncoordinated moves on the dance floor, getting more than a few covetous looks in the process. Don’t get me wrong, Kyle’s pretty cute in a quirky looking, hot librarian kind’ve way, with his white shirt, green eyes and wild, red curls barely contained by a band at the nape of his neck. But I’m pretty sure it’s the two leggy females in short, clingy dresses and strappy stilettos currently putting the moves on him that are attracting the attention. If I was into pussy, I’d be jealous too at having two hot girls sandwiching me like that.

The music dissolves into a slow number with Cartman belting out a cover of ‘One More Try’ on the grand piano and Kyle re-joins us, leaving Bebe entwined around some Jock on the dancefloor, which is now swaying with couples. Red drops down in his lap, flips back her long, rouge waves with a manicured hand and drapes an arm around his shoulder as they both watch Cartman on stage.

At least the music is more in keeping with David and Butters’ mood, who seem to have just relocated their PDA from the flat to the other side of the booth.

I laugh silently as Tweek mimes barfing to me, before also turning his attention to the performance. The lights play across his face, glinting off his hair and turning it to gold. He’s gorgeous when he’s calm like this, eyes closed, swaying ever so slightly to the music. I tear my eyes away and take a sip of my drink. I totally get why we broke up but looking at him now, I have to dredge my memory to remind myself why.

The song finishes and Cartman takes a bow before leaving the stage. He’s replaced by a group of girls headed by a singer with purple hair, who proceed to ramp the energy in the room back up with a high tempo number.

‘Bitch, you’re in my seat.’ I’m jerked out of my thoughts by Cartman’s appearance next to us. His hair is damp (evidently he has the curtesy to shower, thank fuck) and he’s changed his t-shirt to a black one. His red leather jacket is slung over one shoulder.

‘Please honey, we both know you couldn’t fit on here.’ Red bats her eyelashes at his scowl.

‘Come on, Red.’ Kyle says, jiggling his legs and she pouts before sliding seductively off of Kyle’s lap, her ass not leaving his thighs until the last moment. My mouth quirks in amusement. There’s nothing between Kyle and Red for obvious reasons but damn does her flirting with Kyle get Cartman all riled up. It’s hilarious.

‘Catch you later, Kyle.’ She blows him a kiss before sashaying off to join Bebe back on the dancefloor.

Kyle rolls his eyes, sliding up so Cartman can sit on the end and greeting his now sulking boyfriend with a kiss.

‘That was great.’ He says and Cartman snorts.

‘I know.’ He scoffs cockily, snagging Kyle’s drink and taking a gulp. ‘You gonna dance with me Jew, or is that honour only reserved for the whores of Babylon?’

‘Sorry, I’m waiting for my boyfriend.’ Kyle says loftily, snagging his drink back. ‘He’s the headliner at this big club. Knows how to show a guy a good time and everything, not like some of the sulky bitches in here.’ He smirks.

Cartman’s face lights up dangerously, raising to the bait. ‘Sounds like an awesome dude, but I think I can do better.’ He purrs seductively, grabbing Kyle’s hand and dragging him up onto the dancefloor, where he proceeds to do exactly that.

The rest of the evening carries on in the same vein. With me and Tweek content to sit on the side lines and the rest of the guys checking in to grab a drink and catch a breather before jumping back up at the next tune.

The only real bit of excitement comes when David comes back from getting drinks and sees Butters dancing with Cartman.

‘Oh Jesus.’ Tweek covers his eyes as David dumps the drinks on the table and flounces over to reclaim his boyfriend. By this point we’re all pretty drunk and Cartman just flips him off before continuing to pursue his goal of stealing the title of King of PDA by getting down to some dirty dancing with Kyle. Kyle seems to be a willing participant in the challenge, that or he’s too pissed to care what people might think.

We even manage to get Tweek up onto the dancefloor, which is an accomplishment in itself. Granted, it involves Cartman at his back with one protective arm slung around his chest and me and Kyle flanking the front so Tweek has some breathing room on the crowded floor but it works and is a pretty damn sweet way to round off the night.

\----------------

It’s been a quiet couple of days since the club but that all changed the next time Butters came over. I sigh when I see his face. I knew it was too good to last.

‘What the fuck happened?’ Kyle exclaims, getting up to mother hen Butters as soon as he walks through the door. The black eye he’s sporting, stands out stark against his pale features.

‘Gah! Dude!’ Tweek adds, sitting up and dropping his controller. I’m guessing our plan of a nostalgic street fighter marathon is over then.

‘Now don’t fuss Fellas, it was an accident.’ Butters says as Kyle guides him to the sofa.

‘Let me guess, did you walk into a door Butters?’ Cartman drawls sarcastically, finishing pummelling Tweek’s inanimate character in the game before putting his controller down. ‘Heh, I win Tweek.’

Tweek flips him off before turning back to Butters.

‘No. Me and David we’re fooling around and one thing led to another and like I said, it was an accident. It’s my fault really…’

‘Did you punch yourself in the face?’ I deadpan.

‘N-No.’

‘Thenhowcanitbeyourfault?’ Tweek asks.

‘He didn’t mean to. I provoked him really. I mean, you guys know how it is.’

‘Really no, Butters.’ Kyle says.

Butters gives a little laugh. ‘Gee, now come on, Kyle. You’ve hit Eric more times than I can count although I’m not saying he didn’t deserve it, because he did and that’s kind’ve what happened here...’

‘Eh!’ Cartman protests.

‘I haven’t hit Eric since high school. You don’t hit your partner Butters, no matter what the provocation.’ Kyle says, looking affronted.

‘But, you guys argue all the time.’

Cartman and Kyle look uncomfortably at each other.

‘That’s different.’ Kyle says eventually.

‘No it’s not.’

‘Yes. It is, Butters.’ Cartman says firmly. ‘We both know we don’t mean half the shit that we say to each other.’

‘It just works for us.’ Kyle adds.

‘Well this works for us!’

‘But he’s hurting you.’ Kyle says desperately, to which Butters responds with a pointed look towards Kyle’s wrists where faded pink tether marks are only just visible.

‘That’s consensual.’ Kyle hisses, yanking his sleeves down, his cheeks flaming.

‘Well so is this.’

‘Him punching you in the face is consensual?’ Kyle says sceptically as Cartman asks.

‘Then what’s your safe word?’

Butters looks at Cartman blankly and Kyle shoves his hands into his hair to tug on his curls in frustration.

‘Christ Butters, I knew you were a pussy but this takes the cake. He’s fucking using you like a two bit whore.’ Cartman scoffs cruelly.

‘Like you did you mean?’ Butters says, voice shaking slightly as he stands up to square up to Cartman. ‘Oh sorry, you didn’t tell Kyle about our little experiments did you huh?’ Butters ploughs on, gaining confidence at Cartman’s panicked look. ‘Keeping secrets ain’t the sign of a very healthy relationship. Maybe you should take a look at your own before sticking your nose into mine!’ He huffs, storming out of the flat. Tweek yelps as the door slams behind him.

In the aftermath, no one moves. Both me and Cartman hold our breath and wait for the explosion.

‘I knew about Butters.’ Kyle says finally and we all turn to him, me and Tweek sighing in relief, Cartman with a shocked but cautiously hopeful expression. ‘What?’ Kyle raises an eyebrow in amusement. ‘I’m not stupid. I seem to remember there were photos and everything.’

Oh Christ, yes there was. I think I’d suppressed that slideshow of horrors.

‘You never said anything.’ Cartman ventures warily. ‘You’re just fine us hanging out? Alone? Even after knowing all that?’

Kyle shrugs. ‘I imagine I feel exactly how you feel when I go and visit Stan. I’m not gonna stop you. Butters is still your friend like Stan is mine. Why? Should I be worried?’ He adds, pointedly.

‘Fuck no! He’s a fucking pussy.’ Cartman protests, vehemently. ‘You’re like fucking… spicy chicken wings with extra hot sauce and he’s like… the limp lettuce dressing. Fine as a starter but doesn’t make your mouth water with a kick that keeps you coming back for more.’

‘Well then.’ Kyle smirks, seemingly pleased despite the oddness of the compliment.

‘I would’ve said you’re more like an expresso macchiato, Kyle; a shot of energy with justahint of sweetness.’ Tweek suggests.

‘Kyle doesn’t like expresso shots, Tweek.’ Cartman says petulantly as Kyle laughs, a light blush colouring his checks.

‘I guess that makes you the tall mocha?’ Kyle grins at me.

‘Iced caffé mocha actually.’ I just catch Tweek’s mutter and have to fight down a flush myself.

‘What the fuck are we gonna do with him?’ Kyle sighs, bringing the conversation back on track and saving me from responding.

‘Did you see the finger marks on the back of his neck?’ I ask. Kyle winces at the implication as Cartman’s face darkens.

‘I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do.’ He says. ‘Go around to David’s and rip his fucking nuts off.’

‘No.’ Kyle says firmly. ‘You’re only going to alienate Butters more.’

‘Yeh right. I’ll alienate the fucker’s head from his body.’ Cartman snorts, moving to stand.

‘No, Cartman.’ Kyle blocks his path, putting his hands on his chest. ‘This needs to be his decision! And he needs to know he can come to us. Fucking sit!’ He shouts as Cartman snarls in frustration.

‘Don’t give me commands Jew, I’m not a fucking dog!’ He snaps, obeying nonetheless.

‘Huh, I’ll remember that next time you want me on all fours.’ Kyle shoots back and Cartman can’t disguise a smirk.

Me and Tweek share a grimace at the image.

Urgh, where’s that brain bleach?


	2. Chapter 2

I was right about the peace being over; the next day is like world war 3.

Now on a good day, Cartman and Kyle spat a couple of times. Nothing too drastic, just a bit of shouting and name calling before settling back down like nothing ever happened. Today is not a good day.

Apparently, Cartman ignored Kyle’s advice and went round to David’s, informing him that if he hurt Butters again, he would be taking home his nuts in a jar. This did not go down well with David or Butters who, true to form, stutteringly told Cartman to leave and then promptly tattled on him to Kyle.

To say Kyle was not impressed was an understatement, resulting in me trying to keep a fretting Tweek from tearing his hair out while our two roommates verbally tear each other apart. With Kyle screaming that this wasn’t about Cartman and that he could have put Butters in danger and now Butters would never come to them for help and why couldn’t just _think_ before acting, and Cartman yelling back that Kyle needed to get off his high horse and live in the real world and he wasn’t going to stand by like a cowardly Jew whilst Butters got hurt.

That evidently did it. Kyle stormed out and hasn’t been back to the flat since.

I’m not worried, I know he’ll return once he’s cooled off. But I can’t help but be irritated at the timing. It would be on Tweek’s day off, when I promised to go to lunch with my sister. Tweek is still twitchy from all the drama this morning and I’d rather not leave him, but she’s only back from college for the day and it will be another 3 months until I see her again. Plus, if Tweek knew I’d blown her off because of him, I’d be relegated to instant coffee for a month.

I’ll only be a couple of hours and I know Tweek’s a grown man and can take care of himself, but leaving him alone with Cartman puts me on edge. Cartman isn’t exactly known for his calming influence, and a post-fight Cartman is even more of a dick than regular Cartman. The last thing any of us needs right now is to come home to Tweek in a tailspin due to something the insensitive fuck has said or done.

Because of this I’m slightly apprehensive when I get back. I dump my bag and coat in the hallway and frown at the classical music rising and falling from the living room. It’s a piece from the CD I bought Tweek a couple of birthdays back. It’s one of his favourites and the one he tends to listen to when he’s feeling a bit antsy. The fact it’s playing now could be a good thing or a bad thing but I’m cautiously optimistic.

It’s only as I reach the door to the living room that a fundamental difference registers. The music isn’t a recording, it’s being played live and that could only mean one thing. I push open the door and step into the room. Tweek is lying on the couch, his head tipped back with his eyes closed, a mug of coffee clasped between two hands on his chest rising and falling with each breath. And sure enough, there at the piano is Cartman, eyes narrowed at the ipad balanced on the sheet music ledge, totally engrossed in the notes flicking across the screen, fingers flying over the keys.

Truth is, this is one of my favourites too. The way the sharp notes seem to jump out and jumble together but still create a melodious whole. It reminds me a little of Tweek.

Cartman finishes the piece, puncturing each final note with a flourish before leaning back and catching his breath ever so slightly.

‘Not your usual showtunes.’ My voice sounds loud in the sudden silence and Tweek jumps, yelping as the coffee leaps out of his cup onto his cardigan. It seems I also caught Cartman off guard. For a moment he seems at a loss for a comeback before his usual smirk drops into place.

‘I have a wide repertoire, Tucker.’

‘Cartman was practising and heaskediftherewasanythingIliked, so I told him.’ Tweek explains.

‘I didn’t know you played classical.’ I ask, raising an eyebrow.

Cartman shrugs, grabbing his ipad off the piano and standing. ‘It’s not hard.’

I beg to differ, that piece is very hard. And I’m to assume he played it now for the first time just from the sheet music. Sometimes I forget that Cartman must have a brain as he keeps up with, and not infrequently, bests Kyle. Shame he doesn’t show it very often.

Still it was cool of him to do that for Tweek.

‘That was pretty impressive.’ I concede.

‘I’m a pretty impressive guy Tucker, nice to see you’re coming to your senses finally.’ Cartman raises the ipad in a mock toast as he strides past, but for all the blustering his cheeks are slightly pink. He’s funny like that; insults – all fine and dandy, compliments? He gets all weird and flustered like he’s never had one before. Although it’s Cartman, so I imagine they’re not exactly a frequent occurrence.

The front door goes and there’s a stilted ‘Fatass’ answered by ‘Jew’ in the hallway as Kyle bumps into Cartman before poking his head around the door.

‘Sorry I’m a bit late, ready to go Tweek?’ He asks. His smile is a bit tight around the edges but he’s certainly calmer than he was this morning.

‘Ohjesus, I didn’t realise the time. Gah! What if we hit traffic?’ Tweek says, jumping up and almost upending his coffee once more.

‘It’s fine, we’ve got loads of time.’ I assure him and he nods distractedly, jogging to his room to grab his bag. He’s going to Wisconsin for the weekend to visit his Grandparents and me and Kyle had said we’d take him to the airport.

Not 10 minutes later, we’re in Kyle’s car and on our way. It’s a beat up chevvy with mismatched doors that Kyle got second hand from some guy in North Park. His first car was a nice civic but that got written off when Cartman drove it into Stark’s pond (long story), his next car didn’t make it until Christmas and when the one after that ended up trashed after Kyle rolled it somewhere out in the Nevada desert when he and Cartman were fleeing some gun wielding conspiracy nut too close to area 51, he decided to take the hint and only buy cheap, expendable rides.

‘What if the plane’s delayed? WhatifI get on the wrong one?’ Tweek frets from the back seat.

‘I don’t think that’s possible dude, they check your tickets as your board.’ Kyle answers. That’s another thing I like about Kyle, he always addresses Tweek’s concerns – both the far out and not, as if they’re legitimate. Even if his patience does start to wear thin after a while.

‘What if lose my ticket? That’s way too much pressure!’

‘You’ll be fine Tweek. We’ll see you to the gate.’ I promise, earning a quirk of a smile from the frazzled blonde.

‘Itwillbekindaweirdwithoutyou.’ He says in a rush, a blush tinging his cheeks.

‘It’s kind’ve weird for me too.’ I shrug, pretending Kyle isn’t here for this part of the conversation. To be fair Kyle is staring pointedly at the road like it’s the highway to Nirvana.

Tweek does this trip every year and usually it’s an opportunity for both of us to have a break away from South Park. It is weird that he’s going alone. It will be even weirder back at the flat without him. I say as much and I’m rewarded with that flash of a smile again. Tweek is never still enough for a full on grin but that short moment when his face lights up is like a solar flare lighting up the sky.

‘I’ll bring you some coffee and walnut cake back.’ He promises. His Grandmother’s cakes are legendary.

It’s bittersweet seeing him off at the gate and I’m not really in the mood for talking on the drive back. Kyle doesn’t press, flipping on the radio to some hick station to fill the silence.

We’re over half way back when Kyle’s phone rings. He hits the speaker button to answer the call hands free.

‘Hi, I’m driving, go ahead.’

There’s silence. If I listen hard I can just about hear heavy breathing over the sound of the engine. I really hope this is not going to be one of ‘those’ calls. Kyle screws his face up in frustration.

‘Cartman. If this is you prank calling me again, I’m hanging up the phone right now -’

‘There’s a doll in our room.’

There’s a beat where we both stare at the blinking phone balancing on the dashboard, unsure if we heard him correctly. Cartman’s voice sounds off… quieter, like he’s not really giving the call his full attention.

‘Cartman, say that again?’ Kyle says, taking the words right out of my mouth.

‘Why is there a doll in our room?’ Cartman asks, although I’m not entirely sure if he’s talking to us or himself.

‘Cartman?’ Kyle repeats, his voice rising slightly in pitch. ‘Eric?!’

‘I’m here, Kyle.’

‘Eric, can you leave the room?’ Kyle is leaning slightly into the console, flicking his gaze between it and the road. The car swerves slightly and I start to get a bit nervous, he’s obviously torn between giving his full attention to the road or the call.

‘No. No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

Kyle swears under his breath and I get the feeling like we’ve just entered the Twilight Zone, or a Stephen King book or something. There is some weird shit going on right now.

‘Ok, Eric. Stay there. I’m on my way.’ Kyle says finally. The call ends and he hits the gas.

‘What the fuck is going on?’ I ask, gripping the door handle as the usually steady eddy Kyle hits 80.

‘Nothing.’ He dismisses.

‘Fuck nothing!’ I say, getting annoyed. ‘What’s going on? What’s wrong with Cartman?’

‘There’s a doll in our room.’ Kyle says shortly.

‘So what? It’s a fucking doll!’ I snort incredulously. He throws me a dark look which freezes the smile off my face.

He does a perfect hand break turn into a parking space out front that I would have been impressed with if I wasn’t so thrown. Kyle, throws the door open as soon as the car stops, taking the steps up to the apartment two at a time. I catch up with him in the hallway as he slows to a walk, taking a few breaths to gather himself before pushing open his and Cartman’s bedroom door.

The blinds are down and the room is in darkness. I can just make out Cartman’s still form sat on the end of the bed. He doesn’t move as Kyle takes a step into the room, his attention solely focussed on the little china doll that is propped up opposite him on the TV stand.

‘Cartman?’ Kyle says quietly.

‘Jew.’

Kyle steps closer, moving slowly round to Cartman’s side and following his gaze.

‘How long has she been there?’

Cartman shakes his head, not taking his eyes of the doll. She’s pretty, if you like creepy, dead eyed china dolls made up with blonde ringlets and rosy cheeks. She has a red velvet dress on and is clutching some sort of posy of dried flowers. I don’t know why, but that gives me the creeps the most.

‘Came in to get my charger and she was here.’

‘How long ago was that?’ Kyle asks, sliding his gaze over to Cartman.

‘I dunno. Couple of hours?’

I linger in the doorway, not wanting to get involved in whatever shit this is but feeling unable to leave Kyle to do it alone.

‘Hey Fellas, what’s going on?’ Butter’s voice sounds unnaturally loud in the quiet and I jump slightly, remembering that I’d vaguely registered his turquoise beetle outside as we parked. He and David must have been in the living room. I resist the urge to shush him and shrug instead.

‘There’s a doll in Cartman’s room.’

Whatever the significance of this event, it isn’t lost on Butters whose eyes widen.

‘Oh hamburgers.’ He mutters, craning his neck to see past me into the room. David is silently watching behind him, looking as blank as I feel.

In the room, Kyle has sat down next to Cartman on the end of the bed and is continuing to talk to him in a quiet voice that we can just about hear.

‘Do you know her name?’ Kyle asks, watching Cartman carefully.

He takes a moment to answer. ‘Harriet.’

Kyle swallows before nodding.

‘Is she angry?’

‘Not at the moment. I don’t want to make her angry.’

‘Ok. Can I move her? I’ll be gentle.’ He tries and Cartman shakes his head.

‘No. She… wouldn’t like that.’

‘Ok. Can the person who put her there move her? Her… owner?’ Kyle suggests, his gaze flicking over to us for the first time. I’m shocked at his expression. His face is a mask of calm but his eyes are seething, promising retribution to whoever put the doll there and seemingly broke Cartman’s brain.

Something flickers in my memory; a story Token told me when we were kids about Cartman going apeshit at his house and shooting one of his toys. There are so many crazy stories about Cartman that nowadays I struggle to remember which ones are true and which are false, but I’m willing to stake a bet that this is one of the true ones… and that that toy was a doll. No wonder Kyle is pissed.

Cartman nods and Kyle visibly relaxes. ‘Ok. I’ll ask them to take her home.’

Cartman nods, stronger now and turns his head to look at Kyle for the first time.

‘Hey.’ Kyle says with a small smile.

‘Hey.’ Cartman’s mouth quirks and he looks more like himself.

‘Where you at about now?’ Kyle asks.

Cartman closes his eyes and leans his head back. After a moment he raises 4 fingers to Kyle and the dickish morning greetings suddenly make a lot more sense.

‘Fuck!’ He suddenly shouts loudly, running his hands roughly through his hair.

‘Hey, it’s cool dude. You called me, it’s all cool.’ Kyle says, putting a light hand on his shoulder. ‘You wanna go to a motel or something?’

‘How could I refuse that offer? You dirty Jew.’ Cartman smirk drops into place and just like that, he’s back. Kyle just rolls his eyes and gets to his feet. Cartman follows suit and we all scramble to get out of the way as he strides past us as if we weren’t there. The front door slams and Kyle rounds on us, eyes blazing.

‘Who. The fuck. Put the doll in here?’ He asks quietly. We all take a step back. Cartman in the middle of a psychosis might be fucking unnerving but I wasn’t truly scared until this moment. Quiet Kyle is the most dangerous Kyle. It means we’ve gone beyond a screaming fit and entered tear your throat out territory.

For a moment no one speaks and Kyle is just taking another breath when I hear a stammer next to me.

‘Gee Kyle. She’s mine but I don’t know how she got in your room.’ Butters says, voice wavering slightly. ‘David won her for me at the fair. Maybe he thought Cartman would like her? I’ve got a lot of teddies already….’ He trails off as Kyle turns his lazer stare on David.

‘I heard he liked dolls.’ David shrugs, a hint of a smirk around his eyes. ‘Just wanted to say sorry for earlier’s misunderstanding.’

‘See? David didn’t know. I’m really sorry Kyle, we shouldn’t have brought it in the house. I know how Eric hates them.’

Kyle doesn’t respond. He and David are silently staring each other down, the latter’s smile still playing about his lips. As the seconds tick on, Kyle’s posture changes; he leans forward slightly and widens his stance. I recognise it immediately as his default whenever Cartman is about to go off. The fact that he is doing it unconsciously here unsettles me.

‘I have a few house rules David, while you’re under my roof.’ Kyle says finally in the same quiet voice. ‘One. No dolls. No teddy bears, no puppets, no plush animals or creatures of any kind. Two.’ He smiles, showing teeth. ‘Don’t break rule one. Three: respect the other guests and the people who live here. How do you think you’re doing so far?’

‘Sorry, it won’t happen again Kyle.’ David looks suitable contrite, all traces of a smirk gone.

‘No it won’t.’ Kyle agrees.

The tension is broken by the insistent beeping of a car horn.

Kyle turns and pulls open the wardrobe door, grabbing a pre-packed duffel, stopping only to grab a bottle of pills of the bedside table. I find the forward thinking comforting, more like the Kyle I know. I’ve never seen his Jersey form and after today, I don’t think I want to.

‘Burn that doll.’ Is his last instruction to Butters as he leaves. Butters nods, visibly upset.

David watches Kyle's retreating back until the door slams behind him, an undecipherable look on his face. He turns back to us, slinging an arm around Butters.

'Hey baby, it's ok. They've gone now. It's all fine.' He coos, squeezing Butters' shoulders, and although he's right, I can't quite bring myself to feel as relieved as I should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the piece Cartman's playing in my head, it's one of my faves :)   
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MD6xMyuZls0


	3. Chapter 3

I exhale loudly through my nose. The only sign of frustration I’ll permit myself after doing something so stupid.

What sort’ve police officer leaves his handcuffs at home?

My partner Coppin laughs it off, telling me how he once left his gun at Crispy Crème after popping in to buy some donuts whilst on shift. I don’t know whether to be more dismayed by the story or by the stereotype.

To be honest though, as far as the other officers go, Coppin is one of the better ones. He’s doesn’t talk shit and has a steely doggedness when we’re on a case, wrapped up in a fuzzy, public friendly persona that counterbalances my more standoffish tendencies. Even our looks are opposite, he’s shorter and kind’ve cuddly with boyish blue eyes and short brown hair, whereas I’m tall with darker skin and black hair.

He pulls up in front of our apartment building and I tell him I’ll just be a minute as I exit the car and run up the stairs to the flat.

As I come through the door, the raucous singing coming from the kitchen gives me pause. I thought that everyone would be out at work but Cartman, but I’d forgotten that Kyle had booked the day off to take his Dad’s car to Kenny’s garage for its service as a favour.

The incident with the doll seemed to have put things into perspective for Kyle and Cartman and when they returned from the motel they were back to their usual bickering selves, or better as it seems.

‘Gimme, gimme, gimme gravy tonight!’ Cartman’s voice belts out, getting louder as I pass my room, taking a short diversion to peer around the kitchen door.

Cartman is in the middle of the room, dancing away to himself whilst still caterwauling his song. Kyle is stood at the stove, stirring a pan which logic dictates contains gravy, most likely for the chicken that I can smell cooking in the over. He looks like he’s trying not to grin at Cartman’s antics and failing miserably, giving up the fight and giggling as Cartman comes up behind him, grabbing his hips and forcing them to swing in time to his singing.

I’m not worried about them seeing me. They’re too wrapped up in each other to notice a bomb going off right now, plus I’ve been told I can be pretty stealthy when I want to be. Kenny dubbed me ‘the ninja’ once after a particularly successful day paintballing. And anyway I would never take the chance if there was, Kyle would be mortified at anyone seeing him so unguarded.

The giggling turns into an honest to god shriek as Cartman yanks him away from the stove, spoon flying, to twirl him around the kitchen, catching him around the waist to continue their impromptu jive whilst crooning ‘a little kiss is what I’m waiting for.’ He doesn’t get so much of a kiss as a face full of mashed potato (well it was in the lyrics, I guess) as Kyle dips his hand into the other pan on the stove to flick the vegetable at him with a mischievous laugh.

This hardly seems to faze Cartman however and I make a hasty retreat before their play devolves into a full blown food fight (it wouldn’t be the first time).

I smile to myself as duck into my room to search for the wayward cuffs, laughter still echoing from the kitchen. I’m glad they made up and not just because the fallout from them splitting up would be catastrophic for our little group. They’re a couple of extremes. They can’t just be annoyed, they have to be spitting mad. They can’t just be happy, they have to be practically giddy with joy. Frankly, I get whiplash just being in the room with them.

Thank god me and Tweek were always on the same page or thereabouts. Sure, he had his freak outs, just like I had my moments where living in this wackjob of a town drove me nearly to distraction, but we’d help each other stay grounded. It’s one of the reasons I’m grateful our breakup was so amicable and we’re still such good friends.

I spend 10 minutes looking for the handcuffs, at which point I have to concede that I’ve kept Coppin waiting too long and deem it a lost cause. I trudge back down to the car resigned, knowing I’m going to have to fess up to the Chief as soon as I get back to the station.

Luckily they’re not needed during our shift, which passes as painfully slowly as a gall stone. The trouble with uneventful shifts is that 9 times out of 10, a call comes in for some kind of crisis in the last hour in some kind of cosmic conspiracy to prevent you from going home at a decent hour.

It’s not actually me who takes the call; Coppin answers the radio, but hoo boy, as Butters would say, it’s a doozy and we race towards the incident site with full blues on.

The scene that greets us there is utter pandemonium. Our eyes are automatically drawn to the smoking, burnt out wreck standing to our left that was once a silver estate. There are already a number of police cars parked, blocking off the street. Officers are still attempting to cordon the area off, batting back the crowds of onlookers that are craning to get a look and ultimately resorting to standing on the court house steps to get a better view.

The area itself is strewn with debris tracing a perimeter around the wreckage that shows just how far the blast travelled. A short distance away, two well meaning but exasperated paramedics are trying to coax an injured man into the ambulance. The patient is partly out of sight from where he’s plonked himself down on the floor and is evidently refusing to move. What little I can see of his back is covered in cuts and lacerations which are bleeding freely, despite the medics attempts to stifle the flow. They’d be doing a much better job if the patient would stop batting their hands away.

‘Don’t fucking touch me! I told you I’m fine. Now just give me some bandages and I can sort myself out.’

I resist the urge to roll my eyes at the familiar shrill tone. Of course it’s Kyle. When does something exploding in this town not involve at least one or both of the wonder duo?

A string of imaginative expletives follow when his request goes unheeded and I decide to take pity on the medics and pull out my phone. It rings a couple of times before the recipient answers.

‘What Tucker?’ Cartman’s impatient voice bites out over the speaker. Any tact I was going to use in breaking the news to him evaporates.

‘There’s been an explosion. Kyle’s alive but he’s hurt.’ I say bluntly.

That shuts him up. He’s silent for all of 3 seconds before blurting out, ‘Where are you?’

‘At the court house, they think it was a car bomb.’

‘Is he awake?’ Cartman demands.

‘Yeh and raising merry hell.’ I answer wryly.

Cartman huffs a laugh. ‘I’m on my way.’ And the line goes dead.

I feel a little bad for inflicting Cartman on Kyle when he’s in pain but I know full well from experience that no one else can get Kyle into that ambulance. Kyle is one of the bravest and most intelligent people I know and all that goes flying out the window the moment he’s confronted with a hospital. He’s scared shitless of them and won’t let a doctor take so much as a blood sample without throwing an ear splitting tantrum of epic proportions.

I asked Kenny about it once and he said it stemmed back to their childhood. After the ‘human centipad’ incident, Kyle would rather go into a hyperglycaemic coma than let someone he didn’t trust bring a needle near him and risk waking up in that situation again. It’s kind’ve understandable but not exactly ideal for the accident prone red head.

I watch Kyle argue with the medics from the sidelines, knowing better than to get involved and be on the receiving end of a Brovlofski tongue lashing. Even I can see though that he’s starting to flag, his face is pale under his freckles, most likely from blood loss. I’m about to man up and intervene when Cartman’s pick up comes screeching to a stop beyond the police tape, his obnoxiously loud voice carrying over to where we’re standing.

‘Move out of the way, that’s my boyfriend over there.’ An officer lays a hand on his arm to stop him and as much as it would be amusing to watch Cartman get his ass handed to him, Kyle needs him more right now. I shout over at them to let him through and Cartman stomps over to us, his lengthened stride the only indication that he’s anxious to get to Kyle.

Kyle however, isn’t as pleased to see him.

‘Stay right there, Cartman!’ He shouts, raising up a finger to halt Cartman as soon as he catches sight of him.

Cartman stops and holds up his hands, the placating gesture belying his sarcastic tone.

‘Eh, you’re alive then, you ungrateful Jew.’

Coppin winces next to me and I wonder how much I’ve been corrupted that by now I equate the slur with the same way other couples say ‘dear.’ Certainly being around them is like being fluent in a different language. What Cartman actually means is ‘I was worried and I’m glad you’re alive.’

‘Yes I’m fucking alive, Fatass. Now tell these morons to get the fuck off me and let me go.’

Translation: Help me, I’m scared.

‘You need a fucking doctor Kyle, you’re practically passing out.’

‘I’m fine! I wasn’t even in the car. I was walking away and the blast hit me in the back. It’s just some scratches.’

I swallow, reading between the lines of that statement. A couple of seconds earlier and Kyle would have been in the car when the bomb went off.

‘Sir, you have multiple lacerations and burns on your back that if we don’t get treated soon, could get infected. Not to mention the blood loss.’ The medic intercedes sharply.

‘Get in the goddamn ambulance, Kyle.’ Cartman snaps, moving forward and crouching down to support Kyle who had slumped forward at the medics words.

‘You’re not gonna knock me out.’ Kyle slurs, now fading fast.

‘Not if you behave.’ Cartman answers, alluding to the last hospital visit where he had resorted to drugging Kyle to get him there. ‘And that was one time and your appendix was about to burst. Excuse me for saving your life.’

Kyle reacts by gripping Cartman’s sleeve tighter.

‘Come on. I’ll stay with you.’

‘You swear?’ Kyle says, rousing himself enough to look Cartman in the eyes.

‘I’m guessing you don’t want me to sing…’

‘You swear it Eric, I’m not messing about.’ Kyle insists, voice taking on an almost desperate edge.

‘You know I do. Come on.’ Cartman says softly. Kyle hisses as he puts his hands under his arms but allows himself to be helped into the ambulance. I breathe a sigh of relief as the doors swing shut, tempered with an unexpected flare of jealousy.

It’s not that I’m envious of their relationship, god no. But it’s moments like this when I miss what me and Tweek had the most. Sure we weren’t all for heartfelt declarations in the rain or anything, but we had something. Whenever I feel like this I have to remind myself that it wasn’t real.

It felt real though…

I close my eyes, squashing down the pain in my chest. Tweek was right, a relationship based on two people forced together could never last. It’s all kinds of fucked up.

I think that maybe if I keep telling myself that enough, one day I’ll believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gravy (by Dee Dee Sharp) is such a Cartman song XD


	4. Chapter 4

It’s been a few weeks since the car bombing and although we haven’t had any new leads, it’s pretty much the consensus at the station that it was a revenge attack by a disgruntled client of Kyle’s father’s and that Kyle wasn’t the intended victim. Mr Broflovski has had a couple of high profile cases over the summer, some of which got a little ugly and judging from the location and fact that Kyle was only borrowing the car, it’s not a huge leap in reasoning. It’s one that Kyle certainly seems to support and apart from expressing relief that his Dad wasn’t hurt and a conviction that he needs better protection, he’s bounced back pretty soundly.

Thankfully he didn’t need a blood transfusion and the moment the burns and cuts on his back were treated and the doctors proclaimed that he would have no lasting damage, he discharged himself, promising to change the bandages regularly and attend a follow up appointment that I’m pretty sure he has no intention of going to.

Only Cartman seems to think otherwise, but his over the top accusation that it was David getting revenge for the way Kyle spoke to him caused yet another argument with Butters, who we haven’t seen since. To be honest I’m kind’ve glad. Cartman’s paranoia aside, all the arguments and drama lately have been getting to Tweek. He’s been ticing more than usual since he got back, jumping at any raised voices and fussing over Kyle by bringing him hot drinks, which would be adorable if the latter could have coffee with his meds.

By mutual agreement, tonight has been dubbed ‘a drama free’ night. The plan is that we’re just gonna sit and watch a movie with some snacks and chill. More fool us.

‘Uh Guys?’ Kenny calls from the front room. ‘You better come see this.’

‘Two mins, Ken!’ Kyle shouts, supervising Tweek who is diligently stirring the deliciously goopy mess in the pan, his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth. I’m stood by waiting with the popcorn, practically drooling as I stand by to add it to the chocolate and caramel concoction. Cartman already has his spoon out.

‘Now!’

I raise an eyebrow at Kyle who looks as perplexed as I am at Kenny’s unusually insistent tone. He turns off the stove and drags a whimpering Cartman away from the chocolate and out of the kitchen.

‘This better be good po’boy, you’re getting in the way of my snack time.’ Cartman huffs, as we all join Kenny in front of the computer.

‘Look at this.’ Kenny says, ignoring him and reloading a video to play from the beginning. I get a look at the web address bar; the delightfully named ‘Pornsluts’.

‘Aw Kenny, you’re looking at porn on my computer? That’s sick dude!’ Kyle scowls in disgust.

‘I don’t have broadband at home.’ Kenny states off handly as the video loads and we all obediently focus on the screen as the first moan fills the room.

The set up is a bedroom, obviously amateur by the lack of professional lighting and the one angle rig of the camera. The naked figures of two men are visible on the bed; the larger of the two - the ginger, is holding down a smaller blonde with a hand on the back of his neck while he ploughs into him from behind at a punishing pace. The sound of flesh on flesh is punctuated by a sharp slap as the ginger’s other hand moves across the blonde’s backside, hard enough to leave a red palm print.

‘You like that, don’t you slut? Like taking my cock like the fucking whore that you are.’ He grounds out, pushing the blondes head further into the pillow.

The blonde whimpers and turns his head to gasp for air, giving the camera a clean shot of his face.

‘Yes Sir.’ A familiar voice chokes out and my jaw drops open in shock.

‘Fuck. Is that Butters?’ Comes Kyle’s horrified voice next to me.

‘Ohjesus.’ Tweek moans, covering his eyes and peeking through his fingertips.

We continue to watch in dismay, hoping that the video will reveal some other detail that will prove all of this is a mistake and we are not watching our friend get pounded into the mattress on the world wide web.

By the time the video comes to an end we know we’re not mistaken. The ginger, now recognisable as David, pulls out with a groan, coating Butters’ ass in white streaks before leaving him to collapse onto the bed. He doesn’t even finish Butters off, although I feel faintly sick at the fact that I’m pretty sure Butters wasn’t even hard.

‘Is it just on this site, Kenny?’ Kyle is the first to speak, his words rasping out from a dry throat.

‘No. It’s on a bunch of others too.’ Kenny answers grimly, pulling them up on the desktop.

‘Get Butters over here.’ Kyle turns to me suddenly, gripping Cartman’s sleeve who is still staring at the screen, breathing heavily.

I nod, pulling out my phone and clearing my voice to coax it into some semblance of normality as I ask Butters if he’ll come over. Butters agrees readily and my heart clenches at his cheerful tone. Poor little shit has no idea what he’s about to face.

The room is quiet apart from the tap tapping of Kenny’s fingers on the keyboard as he searches for other sites hosting the video. Tweek is trembling next to me, chewing on his sleeve. I half-heartedly focus on the whispered argument Kyle and Cartman are having to my left. They’ve moved away from us and I can only catch the odd sentence until Kyle’s voice raises sharply.

‘No. We need to find out what happened!’

‘We can see exactly what happened!’ Cartman hisses back, gesturing violently towards the screen.

‘It might not be what we think. We can only hope...’ Whatever Kyle hopes is cut off by the doorbell and all heads whip round to the source.

Kyle throws Cartman one last look and takes a deep breath before opening the door to greet Butters and usher him into the room.

‘Hey Fellas! What’s up…’ Butters voice trails off at the grim faces that confront him.

At first no one seem to know what to say or be willing to broach the subject until Kenny clears his throat.

‘So I was on this site Butters and I found this video.’ He says, bringing the original video back up.

‘Aw Kenny, you been looking at dirty videos again? My Dad says that stuff will rot your brain.’ Butters chatters nervously, his eyes widening as the moans start up again. I avert my eyes, it doesn’t seem right to watch it a second time.

‘But, that’s me.’ Butters whispers. The realisation sinking in before he leaps forward, grabbing the mouse off Kenny and shutting the window down.

‘Is this some kind of joke Fellas? Coz I gotta say, it’s not a very funny one!’ Butters stammers, his flaming face looking more hurt than angry.

‘No, it’s not a joke Butters.’ Kyle says gently. ‘Come and sit down.’

‘I don’t understand.’ Butters whimpers, obediently moving to sit on the couch. Cartman is leaning on the arm with his arms crossed, he’s been surprisingly silent so far and remains so even when Butters throws him a confused look.

Kyle sits down on the other side of him, reclaiming his attention.

‘Butters, did you know the video was up there?’

‘No! I don’t understand. It must be some mistake.’ Butters says, his voice rising. ‘I ain’t never taken a video.’

‘You didn’t know you were being filmed?’ I confirm and he looks at me in surprise.

‘No, David must have left it running by accident and it must’ve uploaded or something by itself…’

Cartman makes a disbelieving noise and throws himself up and off the couch. ‘If you believe that Butters, you’re even dumber than you look.’ He says, planting his feet and fixing Butters with a derisive stare.

‘Cartman.’ Kyle warns.

‘It must be a mistake. David wouldn’t…’ Butters breath hitches, eyes starting to tear as the shock wears off and it dawns on him just what’s happened. ‘He just wouldn’t.’ He finishes pitiably.

‘It’s on more than one website, dude.’ Kyle says softly.

Butters head whips up in alarm. ‘What?! How many people have seen it?’

‘Like 20,000.’ Kenny says, checking the screen and Butters gasps, lip trembling anew.

‘What if someone I know has seen it? What is my Dad sees it? He’s gonna kill me for sure!’ He says, looking around wildly. ‘Kyle, you can take it down can’t you? Please?’ He begs the redhead.

‘I don’t know, it’s not as simple as that. It’s on a lot of sites.’ Kyle bites his lip as Butters dissolves into sobs. ‘I’ll do my best Butters.’ He promises firmly, putting his arm around him and letting him cry into his shoulder.

‘It’s ok Kyle, I deserve it. I’m trying to be a good boyfriend, r- really I am. But you can see I’m not very good. David’s right. Why would anyone want me when all I do is lay there like a sack of shh… it?’

‘That’s b-bullshit Butters!’ Tweek protests vehemently, surprising everyone at his outburst. He’s hurting you, anyonecanseethat. He should be looking after you not, gah! humiliating you!’

Butters sobs harder, unconvinced, as Cartman pipes up.

‘You listen here Leopold, coz I’m only gonna say this once.’ Butters looks up in shock at his given name. ‘You’re so goddamn sweet it makes me sick sometimes and you deserve better than some dumass dickwad who probably has to sneak up on his hand to masturbate, and who’s mamma probably tried to get aborted at birth rather than be seen raising a douche-turd loser like him.’

‘Gee, thanks Eric.’ Butters gives him a watery smile and finally seems to have stopped crying. Kenny passes me a tissue to hand to him. He takes it gratefully and I step back to give him some space.

‘Do you want to press charges Butters? It’s a criminal offense what he’s done to you.’ I offer.

‘Yeh dude, you should. Craig will make sure he getswhatscomingtohim.’ Tweek encourages.

‘No… thank you.’ Butters shakes his head vehemently, wiping his nose. ‘He said he’d do it again if I told anyone or tried to leave.’

‘Let him try.’ Cartman says.

‘No! Please Eric. I can’t deal with any more drama today. I just wanna sleep and maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and this will all be a horrible nightmare.’ He sniffles into the tissue.

‘You can stay here Butters, you don’t have to go back.’ Kyle gives him a reassuring squeeze. ‘Just get some rest and try not to worry. We’ll sort it.’

Butters nods miserably. ‘Thanks Fellas. Um, you think I could have a shower? I’m all icky.’ He grimaces.

‘Course.’ Kyle says, helping him up. ‘Just grab yourself some pyjamas from the laundry pile.’

‘You can have my bed.’ Tweek offers and Butters gives him a tremulous smile as he practically runs from the room.

‘Cartman?’ Kyle says, watching the door close behind Butters, his eyes glazing over with barely suppressed rage.

‘Yeh?’ Cartman answers, moving to stand next to him.

‘Remember our discussion a few weeks ago?’

‘Yeh?’

‘Sic ‘em.’

Cartman smiles so darkly, I shiver. ‘Woof, woof.’


	5. Chapter 5

I turn up the radio in my police car at the mention of an IC1 male, relaxing only when the additional description of ‘5ft 7’ crackles over.

Ever since that day with Butters, I’ve been on edge. Listening in to any reports on my radio for anyone who matches Cartman’s or David’s description. I know Cartman is planning something, he was whistling the other night as he got ready for a show and a happy Cartman is a worrying thing.

I sigh, scrubbing at my face and cursing the cheerful chorus of birds who seem to think we’re in a fucking Disney movie. I’m nearly at the end of another 9 hour night shift but there’s been no sign of anything untoward.

Kyle has been working tirelessly to take every copy of that video down, staying up until 3am every night hacking sites and rerouting servers and whatever techy ass, nerdy shit he does to rid the world of the fucking thing.

Butters finally went to his Mom and Dad’s a couple of days ago and apart from a brief altercation when David went round there to try and convince him to take him back, it’s been all quiet. Butters called Cartman who went round and saw him off pretty effectively from what I understand and David hasn’t shown his face again. In fact, no one has seen hide nor hair of either of them since.

I dump the car at the station, signing my keys back in and clocking out. The stack of paperwork on my desk can wait until tomorrow and all I’m thinking of as I walk through the door and kick off my shoes, is a cup of hot chocolate and my warm bed.

Kyle rolls his eyes at me as I pass him in the front room, gesturing to his phone. He’s on to some investment client who’s obviously giving him shit by the tinny expletives that are coming out of the speaker. In the bathroom I can hear the water running for Tweek’s allotted time in the shower.

‘Cartman.’ I greet as I enter the kitchen to find the fatass at the breakfast table stuffing his face.

‘Tucker.’ He responds around a mouthful of bacon sandwich, not looking up from the game on his phone that he’s playing one handed.

I stick on the kettle on and grab a sachet of instant chocolate, pulling open the fridge to look for the milk only to find it already out on the counter-top going warm. I’ve told Cartman a million times to put it back in the fridge and the asshole still leaves it out. I turn to berate him for it, the words dying in my throat as I catch sight of the large jar by his elbow on the table.

‘Cartman, what the fuck is that?’ I ask, aghast.

‘What is what?’ He responds distractedly, still fiddling with the game.

Two egg shaped objects are floating in the brine. Objects that look nauseatingly like testicles.

I swallow, resisting the urge to cross my legs.

‘Cartman, are they what I think they are?’

‘I don’t know Tucker, what do you think they are?’ Cartman returns.

I bang my hands on the table, making him look up in shock.

‘GOD DAMMIT YOU FUCKING PSYCHOPATH! Is he fucking alive?’ I shout, driven to the edge by his nonchalant tone.

‘Who?’

‘FUCKING DAVID!’

‘Oh. When I left him he was yeh.’ Cartman shrugs, turning back to his game.

I breathe a sigh of relief, grabbing my radio and putting out a call for an APB on a male of David’s description. I’m just finishing up as Kyle walks back into the room. Thank fuck. Maybe I’ll get more sense out of him.

‘Kyle, what the fuck is in that jar?’

Kyle looks for a moment, surprise flitting across his face before being shut down by a cool mask.

‘Pickled eggs.’ He shrugs. ‘Is there any bacon left, Fatass?’

‘Only for you, babe.’ Cartman grins sickeningly and I despair at the pair of them. They’re both as insane as each other.

My radio crackles and I storm out of the room to take the call. As the door swings shut behind me I catch a heated whisper.

‘Cartman, get those the fuck off my table and out of my house!’ Followed by Cartman’s laughter.

I grit my teeth, going into the sanctuary of my bedroom and giving the go ahead for the speaker, who informs me that David Price was admitted to hospital last night with severe trauma and bleeding. However, he’s expected to make a full recovery and unfortunately doesn’t remember a thing about the attack or his attacker. What a surprise, I shake my head.

I end the call, caught between storming back in there and leaving it be. As a cop, I should go and arrest him, after all the evidence is there on my kitchen table. As Butters’ friend and a human being, I want to leave it well alone. The bastard won’t hurting Butters, or anyone else for that matter, again.

And I can’t help wondering how I would react if it were Tweek in Butters’ situation. The thought makes me feel sick.

I sigh, turning round to go back in. I push open the door, only to find the choice made for me.

There’s no sign of the jar. In fact, if I hadn’t have seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it. There’s no evidence of anything sinister at all, just two guys having breakfast, bickering over the crossword puzzle.

I let the door close and return to my room, collapsing onto my bed.

After living in South Park for so long, I’ve taught myself to curb my naturally pessimistic tendencies and look for the silver lining. It was either that or book myself into the psyc ward at Denver Institute. I wouldn't exactly go as far as 'all's well that ends well' but at the very least it’s all over now.

You’d think I’d know better by now wouldn’t you?


	6. Chapter 6

_2 weeks later_

Is there anything more soul destroying than paperwork? I’m at my desk at the station, filling out my 4th batch of forms for some dumbass kids we caught vandalising public toilets. My hand is starting to cramp as I finish the last once, securing it with a paperclip. As I look over at my still overflowing intray, I wonder if I linked enough paperclips together I could fashion some sort of noose…

‘Tucker?’

I’m jolted out of my morbid daydream of stationery assisted suicide to see Young motioning me over. His name is a pretty apt description as he’s one of the youngest in the station with a baby face to match, and therefore usually gets tasked with all the social media monitoring and anything that the older veterans don’t consider ‘proper police work’.

I stamp down my irritation at being summoned before it reaches my face and move over to his desk. His dark brows are scrunched into a frown under his glasses, which are held together with tape. He’s not yet caught on that specs and the beat don’t mix.

‘This was tweeted to the station just now.’ He explains and clicks a link to open up a video. A green door wobbles on the screen before steadying under the videographers hand… a very familiar green door.

‘What the fuck.’ I can’t help muttering as I lean forward over Young’s shoulder to get a better look. ‘That’s my front door.’ I should know. Me and Tweek painted it meticulously as a surprise for Kyle when we first moved in. It’s the same green as his old hat.

The last time I looked though, it wasn’t decorated with C4.

‘Flipping heck.’ Young says as we both gape in horror at the wires running from the door handle to the charge.

‘Get the bomb squad on the line, now.’ I bark over my shoulder to Coppin, who grabs his telephone and starts dialling.

I turn back to the video and it’s at that moment that I realise the video is coming from _inside_ my flat. A cold weight settles in my stomach along with a mental mantra of ‘please don’t let Tweek be in, please don’t let _anyone_ be in’ as we watch the intruder moving along the dark hallway, bypassing my room, Tweek’s room that’s in darkness (thank fuck), and stopping outside Kyle’s. The chill spreads as a pale hand comes up to push open the door, revealing a sleeping Kyle sprawled out on the bed. He’s lying on his front, wearing boxers and a too big black hoody that must belong to Cartman, evidently in an effort to protect his healing back. The video moves into the room, settling on his prone form and for a good 30 seconds the only sound is the intruders breathing mingling with Kyle’s slow breaths.

‘Are they dispatched?’ I shout urgently. Coppin jumps, no doubt shocked at the colleague he had not so imaginatively nicknamed ‘Spock’ showing this much emotion. I couldn’t give a shit right now. Some freak is in my flat, standing over one of my best friends, watching him sleep. And I’ve got a pretty good idea who that freak is. I really, really hope I’m wrong.

The video moves over to the desk; the intruder positioning it so the room is in view and revealing himself in the process.

I’m not wrong.

Even in the darkness of the room, it’s obvious from the shock of ginger hair that it’s David. He’s wearing a black sweater and jogging bottoms like some bad impression of a 90’s cat burglar. Only this isn’t the 90’s and he’s not a cat burglar. He’s something far more dangerous.

‘They’re on their way, Tucker.’ Coppin reports, and I’m about to give him more orders when David, apparently satisfied with the positioning, moves away from the camera back to the bed. All three of us are stood fixed on the screen holding our breath for his next move.

Kyle’s head turns, murmuring out a sleepy ‘Eric?’ and I just have time to see his eyes widen with realisation before David is on him. Kyle twists to meet his lunge, letting out a cry of pain at the obvious pull on his wounds. David uses this to his full advantage, getting a knee in the small of his back and twisting with glee. Kyle shouts again, throwing his elbow back and catching David full in the face. He rears back on instinct, hissing and Kyle uses the opportunity to flip onto his back, bringing his fist back again to connect with David’s jaw. It’s a glancing blow as David dodges and catches hold of his arm, attempting to pin a bucking Kyle down as Kyle gets his leg underneath him and almost succeeds in throwing the bigger man off. I’d be impressed if I wasn’t so petrified for my friend’s life.

David however, is not impressed. He snarls, grabbing the lamp off the bedside table and smashing it into Kyle’s face. Kyle goes limp immediately.

David sits back for a moment catching his breath before grabbing a pair of handcuffs off the same table.

‘You dirty fuckers. Thanks for these.’ He toasts Kyle before rolling him over to cuff his hands behind his back.

That done, he climbs off the bed and approaches the camera. I can barely see his smug face filling the screen behind the red haze that has descended across my vision. The bastard will pay.

‘Hey fatboy.’ He greets cheerfully. ‘You took something of mine, so now I’m taking something of yours. Maybe I’ll let you keep a little bit of him for your jar.’ I shiver at the vicious grin he shoots Kyle’s prone form. ‘You can tweet me back with your favourite bit of him.’

He continues to taunt Cartman but I’ve stopped listening. My eyes are focused on the bed in the background where Kyle’s head has very slowly turned to observe David. He stills for a moment, blinking blood out of his eyes, before rolling to reach his hands over to the bedside table. He resumes his position just as David finishes his diatribe.

‘Anyway, let’s get this show on the road.’ David produces a cruel looking serrated knife and flashes it for the camera. ‘I think I’ll start at the bottom. That way he can watch.’

My heart is in my mouth as he turns back to Kyle, approaching the bed. Kyle waits until he’s leaning over him until he twists, his wrists miraculously undone as he swings the weapon in his hand across David’s face with a resounding crack before bringing it up immediately to hit him again on the upswing. David staggers back from what I now realise is a riding crop, hand moving to clutch at his face before doubling over from a swift kick to the gut. Our last look at the scene is of Kyle throwing himself forward as David’s back hits the desk and the camera goes black.

There’s a beat of silence before the entire station moves as one.

‘Tucker, you shouldn’t…’ The rest of Coppin’s advice is lost to my snarl. I know regulations dictate we leave this to the bomb squad but my friend needs me and the devil himself couldn’t stop me from going to him right now. Coppin reels back, holding up his hands and I dive past him, shouting at Young to monitor the site and call me if the connection comes back up, before running out of the station and jumping into a car. Coppin slides in beside me and barely has his seat belt buckled before I’m pulling out of the station and onto the road, speeding towards the flat with the sirens blaring.

A banged up fiat dithers before swerving out of our way and I bite down a noise of frustration. I have no actual way of knowing if the video was shot in real time or happened hours ago. Kyle might already be dead.

Please don’t let him be dead.

My cell rings and Coppin fishes it out of my pocket, pressing the answer button and holding it up on speaker so I can hear. Cartman’s voice fills the car.

‘Tucker?’

‘Did you see the video?’ I say by way of answer.

‘Yeh, the fucker tweeted it to me as well. Kenny’s with me. Are you there?’ By the tinny quality to Cartman’s voice I’m assuming he’s in transit too.

‘I’m on my way. The bomb squad are there now. Listen Cartman, leave this to us. It’s your fuck up that got him into this mess.’ I accuse, anger leaching into my voice.

‘I agree. If by fuck up you mean I didn’t kill the fuckturd when I had the chance.’

‘Cartman, don’t do anything stupid!’ I shout.

‘No promises, Tucker.’ Cartman retorts and the line goes dead.

‘Fuck!’ I put my foot down. If Cartman gets there beforehand and ends up getting Kyle hurt, I’ll shoot the fat bastard myself.

Fortuitously, or not depending on how you look at it, we both reach the flat at the same time. There’s already a police barricade around the base where the bomb squad have evacuated the building and its surroundings, and are inside working to gain access to the flat. I pull up across the road next to Cartman’s truck, leaping out of the car to meet him and Kenny and almost colliding with Cartman’s back as he comes to a dead stop in the middle of the street, eyes fixed on the roof.

I follow his gaze up to where two figures are wrestling. I barely have time to focus on who is who before the one on the bottom places a well timed knee to the other guy’s chest, flipping him over his head and we can only watch in horror as the figure dives over the edge, plummeting four stories and hitting the pavement with a sickening crunch.

‘KYLE!’ Cartman’s scream seems to be dragged up from his very soul as he and Kenny race full tilt, ignoring the police cordon to get to the crumpled figure on the sidewalk. It takes me a moment to blink away the horror of what I’ve just seen before I follow them. I feel sick as I approach, not knowing what to expect; if the last memory of my friend is going to be his remains splattered on the sidewalk.

I did not expect Cartman to be laughing.

He’s doubled over by the body, holding his stomach, crying tears of what I realise must be relief.

It’s David.

‘Kyle!’ Kenny shouts, tilting his head back and cupping his hands around his mouth.

‘Kenny?’ A voice answers from above.

We all look up to see a shock of red curls peering over the edge.

‘Kyle!’ Cartman shouts, stepping back to see him better. ‘Hold on, I’m coming up.’

Before I can protest, he takes a run up, bouncing his foot off the wall to gain some height and catch the end of the fire escape ladder. I guess all the exercise on those ‘adventures’ must have paid off. He drags it down and climbs up, ascending quickly with Kenny and myself on his heels. Some of the other guys from the station have arrived and are dealing with the body. Seeing to Kyle’s safety is my priority now.

It seems like an age and I’m sweating in my uniform when we make it to the top. I clamber over the lip to find Cartman and Kenny already crouched over Kyle, who has sensibly dragged himself back from the edge.

He’s in a bad way. The left side of his face his covered in cuts and blood from the lamp glass, his curls glistening with it. Kenny lifts a hand to support his back but removes it quickly at Kyle’s hiss, his palm coming away stained red where the blood from the bust stitches in Kyle’s back has seeped through the fabric of his hoodie. He’s clutching at his side at what he assures us is a glancing wound off his ribs from the knife and to top it off, he’s sweating and beginning to shake in what I’m pretty sure is hypoglycaemic shock from all the exertion.

I radio down to the team on the ground requesting immediate medical assistance. I reassure Kyle that help will be here soon but I don’t think he’s listening. He’s leaning against Cartman’s shoulder with his eyes closed, the latter stroking his hair in an uncharacteristically tender gesture. Or it might not be, I’ve come to the realisation over the past few weeks that I actually know fuck all about their relationship. But in the words of my friend here ‘I’ve learned something today’; it might be unfathomable to others, intense and all kinds of fucked up but in moments like this I can see that they really do love each other. No matter what anyone else thinks, it just works for them and that’s what matters at the end of the day.

My mind flicks to Tweek and relief washes over me again that he wasn’t in the flat tonight. Maybe today should be the day that I finally admit what I really want and ask him out properly, for real this time. Christ, if Cartman and Kyle can make it work, we’ve gotta at least have a shot right?

The medics arrive and after a dose of insulin and a temporary patch up, we manage slowly half carry, half manoeuvre Kyle down the fire escape. As we descend we get a garbled version of events that I manage to piece together into some semblance of coherence. It seems that Kyle managed to get the upper hand in the bedroom, incapacitating David long enough to reach the front door. Luckily he had enough sense once he’d spotted the wires, not to open the rigged exit. He was climbing out the window onto the roof when David caught up with him and the rest we saw.

He seems more angry than scarred by the nights events, which would be surprising if it was anyone else but Kyle. But to be honest, I don’t think any of us will be losing much sleep over David’s demise.

I step back once we reach the ground, leaving the guys to it to go and check in with Coppin on the bomb squads progress.

‘Craig!’

I just have time to turn around before I’m engulfed in blonde hair and a fluffy hood.

‘I came home and saw the police tape and Iwassoworried.’ Tweek forces out, his voice muffled by my chest. I wrap my arms around him, resting my chin on his head and breathing the scent of shampoo and fresh coffee.

‘It was David. Kyle and Cartman are fine though.’ I add as he pulls back and looks at me in horror. I gesture over to where Cartman is practically carrying Kyle, dumping him unceremoniously in the back of the ambulance as Kenny looks on, hiding his grin behind his hand. I pity the medics who are on call tonight.

‘That’s good.’ Tweek breathes in relief, ‘areyouok?’ He asks, eyes narrowing as he studies my face.

‘Yeh, had a bit of a scare when David fell.’ I shrug. There’s no use in lying. Tweek always was the only one who could pick apart my poker face. ‘And when we first got the video. I wasn’t sure who was in the flat, if you were…’

I’m cut off as Tweek lunges forward and presses his lips to mine. There’s a moment where everything dims around us and my world narrows down to the bright spark in front of me and the electricity tingling between us.

As quickly as he initiated the kiss, Tweek pulls back.

‘Argh sorry. I just… I’ve been wanting to do that for ages and willyougooutwithme? Gah.’ Tweek says, one hand moving up to pull at his locks nervously.

For possibly the first time ever, I’m stunned into silence. In the moment it takes me to process this frankly incredible development and formulate a response, Tweek is already stepping back.

‘I get it if you don’t want to, and IknowwhatIsaid. About the pressure but it’s better when I’m with you. Everything’s better when I’m with you. And if Cartman and Kyle can make it work, then wemustbeableto right? I mean, gah! We’re much less crazy than them.’ Tweek rambles on and I smile. The full beam smile that only Tweek can induce.

I couldn’t agree more.

\------------------

Three weeks later and everything has gone back to normal, and yet is somehow different.

Kyle is up and about, thank fuck. He’s a terrible patient and I don’t think I could tolerate another screaming match between him and Cartman over Kerplunk or some other board game they’ve been playing to pass the time.

I told them they could keep my handcuffs. I don’t even want to think about why they were in their bedroom. I was intrigued however as to how Kyle got out of them so fast. I asked him a couple of days after the incident and got a worryingly offhand response;

‘Eh, I’ve been able to pick handcuffs since I was 13. Kind of a life skill when you live in South Park.’

He and Cartman have been out at the library today researching a voodoo curse or some shit. I’m sure I’ll be hearing about it over my police radio sooner or later.

Butters is getting better too. He was quite conflicted when we broke the news about David; on one hand this was the guy who had tried to kill his friend, hurt him and humiliated him on the internet, but Butters being Butters, he still cared about him. It’s taken him a little while to get back to his chirpy self but I think moving into Tweek’s old room has helped.

Tweek is now sleeping with me, and before you read too much into that, we’re taking it slow but I couldn’t care less. It’s the real thing. And sitting here on the couch with my arm wrapped around him, Butters perched next to me smiling fondly at Cartman and Kyle sprawled out on the floor, bickering about the movie and Kenny lounging in the chair egging them on with a mischievous grin, I couldn’t be happier being part of this fucked up little family.

So there you have it, the losers and the gays, the waifs and the strays, whatever you want to call us, I don’t think it matters. This is our home and right at this moment, I wouldn't have it any other way. 


End file.
